


Time Out

by shadow_lover



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Collar, Dom!Yuuri, Dom/sub Play, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Extra Treat, M/M, Polyamory, Sub!yuri, asexual kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 02:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11591244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_lover/pseuds/shadow_lover
Summary: The collar comes with rules. Yuri’s agreeing to those rules when he says, “Okay.”





	Time Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CoolDoggo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoolDoggo/gifts).



> I saw your request and couldn't stop thinking about it, so I hope you enjoy this treat! :)
> 
> This is set perhaps two years post-canon. Victor is retired and coaching Yuri, Yuuri's flirting with coaching too but not coaching Yuri, and Yuri is still competing.

Yuuri’s halfway through putting the groceries away when Victor calls. It’s late evening, and Victor and Yuri should be finishing up at the rink, so Yuuri answers, “What happened this time?”

Because Victor only ever calls for one reason after practice.

Sure enough, Victor sighs dramatically. “He’s been pushing too hard all day, and he won’t tell me why. I can’t deal with him like this.”

“I can take care of it,” Yuuri says. He dumps the milk in the fridge. Slides the eggs in a bit more carefully. “You’ve got dinner with Yakov tonight, right? Drop him off on your way there.”

“You’re the _best_ ,” Victor croons. He does this all the time, but even a year into the marriage, it never fails to make Yuuri blush. “I’ll thank you properly later.”

“If you’re back past midnight, don’t wake me up,” Yuuri says. “They’ve got me helping with the eight-year-olds tomorrow.”

***

At least the eight-year-olds knew how to listen to their coaches, Yuuri reflects as Yuri storms into the apartment. His stomping echoes all the way through the apartment and into the bedroom, where Yuuri is just pulling a box from under the bed.

He brings the box into the living room. Yuri’s kicking his shoes off in the entryway, and his scowl spells murder.

Once, Yuuri might have quailed before that scowl. The kid knows how to _kick_. But Yuuri gets him better now, and he knows how to deal with his tantrums.

“Victor called,” he says.

“I figured.” Yuri shoves his hands in his sweatshirt pockets. He hunches in on himself. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

The words, _You gonna make me?_ hang unsaid between them.

Yuuri’s still learning to be patient with people—it’s hardest with his husband, but it’s pretty hard with their boyfriend too. He thinks he’s getting better at it, though, and when he gets it right, it’s worth it.

So he sets the box on the coffee table, sits on the couch, and says, “We aren’t going to talk about it, then.”

Yuri only then seems to notice the box out, because he freezes, and his face goes blank. Yuuri can practically hear Yuri’s mind racing—which is exactly what he wants to stop right now.

The box is dark and nondescript. It looks a little like a jewelry box, and Yuuri guesses that’s close enough. He unlatches it, and runs his fingers over the items set inside. The room is quiet enough to hear a pin drop, or Yuri’s socked feet inching closer over the carpet.

Yuuri passes over the cuffs and picks up the collar. He stands up. “Can I put this on you?”

The collar comes with rules. Yuri’s agreeing to those rules when he says, “Okay.”

Yuuri likes the way he flushes when he says it.

He steps closer, into Yuri’s space, and feels a low thrill when Yuri lifts his chin up to make it easier. Yuuri doesn’t know if Yuri even notices all the little ways he gives his obedience, but he savors each and every one. Like Yuri’s eyes fluttering shut when Yuuri loops the leather around his neck. Like the hitch in his breath when Yuuri fastens the buckle. The collar fits well on him—was made for him, on Yuuri’s request and Victor’s eager agreement—smooth and snug around his slim neck. There’s room enough for two fingers to hook under it, which is useful.

Not tonight, though. Yuuri has other plans. Yuri’s been pushing too hard. He needs space to slow down, whether he realizes or not.

“Drop one of the couch pillows on the floor,” he says quietly, because when Yuri’s collared, he’s listening.

Yuri’s eyebrows knit in confusion, and he opens his mouth as if to ask why—but then his lips press tight again, and he obeys.

Yuuri pushes the coffee table out of the way, then sits on the couch, feet next to the pillow. Leans back. “Sit on the pillow.”

“How should I sit?” Yuri asks. It’s the sort of question he’s allowed.

“However’s comfortable. Not on your knees.”

Yuri folds himself down to the pillow, and leans against the couch. He leaves centimeters between himself and Yuuri’s leg, until Yuuri reaches down, ruffles his fingers through Yuri’s hair, and gently tugs him over. Then Yuri’s head is against his knee, his shoulder against his calf, and he’s so stiff, Yuuri can feel the tension coiling in him.

He reaches for the remote, and turns on the TV. “Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes,” he says. “You’re going to sit here with me until then.”

Yuri looks up at him, and once more almost asks—but stops himself. _Good._ A bit of the anger’s back in his face, but Yuuri doesn’t ask about that. He looks away, and starts flipping through channels for something in English, or something in Russian where he doesn’t have to know most of the words.

He doesn’t look at Yuri, but he feels when Yuri settles back against his leg.

And twenty minutes later, he feels him relax.


End file.
